


Like an Open Book

by Cave_of_the_mounds



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Restraints, Smut, Teasing, power
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 01:16:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20788172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cave_of_the_mounds/pseuds/Cave_of_the_mounds
Summary: My friend and I were objectifying Ketch and decided to imagine that alpha bastard needing some release and giving up control. So, here we are.Ketch needs some tension release, you know him well enough to help. Win-win.





	Like an Open Book

You knew this was coming. You’d seen the signs building up for weeks.

“Damn!”

You hear him curse, the hotel suite not providing much privacy. You draw in a deep breath of your own, centering yourself before the storm you know is on its way.

“What’s going on?” 

“Those damned Winchesters.”

“Always,” you mutter, “Why do you let them get to you?”

He squeezes his fist, holding it up as he rubs his knuckles along his lips - one of his tells, “You give them an inch, and they take a mile.”

You tilt your head as you look him over. His perfect posture even more stiff than usual, eyes narrowed in a glare, fingers relentlessly straightening his tie as they always are when he’s anxious. God, the ‘Old Men’ as he and Mick liked to call them would be disappointed that he’d gotten so sloppy.

“You need to relax,” you say, walking over to him and gripping his shoulders in your palms.

He scoffs at your statement of the obvious.

“No, dear,” you lean in to whisper in his ear, “You need to relax,” you emphasize.

He reaches a hand up to catch yours as you massage at this tight muscles, “Is that so?”

“Mhhmm,” you hum, “I believe you’re quite overdue.”

He draws in a deep breath, his chest heaving, “Well then, let’s get on with it.”

Your lips curl. You walk around his side and grip at his tie, pulling him up out of his seat and along as you walk backward to the bed, “Yes. Let’s.”

He keeps his eyes on yours while he undresses, taking the time to fold his jacket and slacks and lay them out. You pick up his tie after he unknots it, sliding the silk between your fingers as you watch him strip layer by later.

“Stop.” You order once he reaches his boxers, “That’s enough.” Then you nod your chin toward the bed, waiting for him to climb in. A slow, lingering look and the slightest shift of his eyebrow is all you get in response, his chin still raised in the usual defiance. You step forward, pushing into his space.

“Come on now, Arthur, don’t make us both wait.” You pinch his chin, your lips close enough to touch, but still held back just enough to make him sway toward you. “It’ll be so good.” You hold his stare, promising everything with your eyes. He finally drops his shoulders, trying to leave some of the tension behind as he climbs into the bed and lies down on his back.

The thing is, he can get out of the knots by the time you make sure they’re tight enough.

He knows it, you know it. It’s a game you love to both win and lose.

“Well?” he challenges, arms flexing in the bonds, breath controlled and even. Still far too tense.

“Relax Mr. Ketch, I will take very good care of you.”

His body is laid out, and you look him over like a damn buffet trying to decide where to start. Making sure he’s watching you, you start to strip down, stopping short of removing your own undergarments, then kneel onto the bed. Leaning over him, you trace over his fingers, then down his palms, grinning when he closes his fist to hold your hand for a few seconds. Another tell, a signal really, only you’re privy to.

He lets go, and you move your hands down his arms, squeezing and massaging the tension out along the way and paying close attention as his breathing relaxes, each inhale dragging out a little longer, eyes closing a little longer with each blink.

“That’s it,” you whisper, lips hovering just at the hinge of his jaw. You bring your hands down to hold yourself above him, swinging your leg over to straddle him, and now using your lips to make your way lower, tasting him as you go, doubling your efforts when you hit a spot that makes his breath hitch, loving that he gives you the opportunity to see him this way. You feel him flex beneath you, lifting his hips as you pull yours away.

“If you want more you need to use your words, darling.” You demand, voice steady. He inhales deeply, unable to stop the flush from rising in his cheeks, but stubbornly staring you down. You crawl backward, fingers trailing down his torso until you reach the last of his clothing, “It’s more fun when you beg.”

“I’m not a dog,” he argues, his arms twitching above him.

“Of course not, just tell me what you want.”

“You. Always.”

Damn. While it happens more often now that he’s a free agent, it’s still a rush to see him with such an open and earnest look about him. No scrutinizing glares or sharp edges.

“My god, you’re a sap.” 

You lean in to kiss him, using one hand to support yourself and the other to tug at the last barriers of clothing - twisting and pulling, even using your feet to yank them out of the way before lining yourself up with him and sinking down. You each cry out, interrupting the kiss when noises of satisfaction escape at the feeling of him inside you.

You grin against his lips before lifting up and moving back down, constantly changing your tempo, building him up until his head is shoved back into the pillow, mouth gaping at the ceiling, then back down again until he practically snarls at you; his chin quivering and giving away that he’s nearly lost his patience and his tolerance for being “helpless.” You stop completely, eyebrow lifted as you stare him down, reminding him that he needs this - wants this. You wait, both of you with panting breaths before he shifts his shoulders and relaxes. 

And then you lift yourself, slowly moving up and down his shaft again, dragging it out for you as much as him.

"Good boy, Arthur,” you sass, just to watch his jaw clench at your cheekiness.

His speed never fails to catch you off-guard. His arms wrap around you as his body twists to flip your positions.

“I am not a dog.”

“But you are my good boy,” you scratch your fingers over his scalp.

Lips twitch in a quick snarl before twisting into a wicked smile. “Hmm, you’re going to push too far one day.”

“I hope so,” you nip at him then slide your tongue across his plump lower lip. He moves to support himself above you while you spread your legs wide and shift to settle his hips between your thighs. “I’m supposed to be helping you relax, though.”

“Trust me, my dear, my mind is clear of anything but you.” He holds eye contact with you as he leans down over your chest and tugs your nipple between his teeth, making your back arch with the pull.

“Yes,” you hiss.

From there, he takes you apart, kissing and sucking his way across your skin, his fingers tease between your legs while you try to pull him in with legs hooked around him. Finally, he relents, pushing back into you - slowly, then quickly - his rhythm steady as he drives you both toward the finish. His grunts become shorter and choppy as they always do when he’s close, and you squeeze your legs tighter around him and hold tightly to his shoulders. 

“Yes, baby, come on,” you urge, like always.

But then he pulls away. He slows down again and you catch your breath. 

“You think I’m done?” He keeps a gentle pace, enough to keep the edge right there. You’re nearly at the point that you can’t take anymore, and that’s when he holds you down by your forearms. Rubs his light stubble against your cheek and neck, and growls a whisper into your ear. “Not yet love. I’m not done with you yet.”

So, maybe you don’t know all his tells.


End file.
